


Devils and Dust

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Interpol - Freeform, Possible alcoholism, Watcher's Council
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily's having trouble adjusting to life away from the BAU, but meeting another misfit might help her learn to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of AU Xander, in that he still lost his eye, but none of the crazy stuff from the comics happened to him and he isn't with Dawn. Be warned - there won't be much love for Buffy Summers here, because I still haven't forgiven the crap of season seven. I might add more characters later, but right now I'm sticking to Emily and Xander.

There were too many nights like this one. 

It wasn't that Emily didn't like London, because she did. The city had a lot to offer, her work was rewarding, and she'd mostly settled in. _Mostly_. But there was still a part of her that wanted to be back in the States. Call it homesickness, the fact that she missed her old friends, her old apartment. She stayed in touch when she could, but it never felt like enough.

With only Sergio for company, she'd thrown herself into matters at Interpol. Running the London office was challenging, and she enjoyed being able to call the shots, but she was also realizing how difficult Hotch's job must have been. When she was rationalizing, she told herself that that was why wine had become her favorite beverage with dinner.

She had a glass in her hand right then, actually, but she was at a formal event, and so it didn't really count. _Everyone_ drank at these things, even the new operatives. Emily toyed with her glass, surveyed the room from her vantage point. Times like this were when she _really_ missed working with a small, select group. But then again, this job was more paperwork-intensive than her old one.

"Emily? I'd like you to meet someone."

The brunette turned when she heard Clyde's voice, and she offered a polite smile even as she exchanged her empty glass for a full one. Another thing about this job was that you met lots of people in evening wear. Easter returned the smile, waved the other man over.

"Harris, I'd like you to meet Emily Prentiss, our Section Chief for the London agency. Emily, Alexander Harris, the liaison for the Watcher's Council."

He was a head taller than she was, his longish hair brushing the collar of his suit jacket. His single eye was very dark, brown bordering on black. The patch made her think of pirates, of Jack Sparrow, but there was no jauntiness in either his expression or his posture. Her polite smile remained, and his lips twitched slightly in response.

"Xander."

In truth, Clyde was glad to fob this one off on someone else, though he _did_ regret that Emily was the first person he'd come across. The re-constituted Council had very little in common with the traditional beginnings of the group, and he had no idea of how Harris had come to be their contact. He made a mental note to make it up to her later, then subtly excused himself.

"Another ex-pat," the woman Xander had been introduced to said, and he nodded. "Yeah, all the way from Cleveland. Cleveland by way of California, actually." He tried to place her accent and couldn't do it. Educated, though. He could see the intelligence in the way she was sizing him up. He altered his posture, refrained from futzing with his tie. He wasn't an awkward teenager anymore, and scrutiny didn't faze him. Much. 

"You're a little young to be a Watcher, aren't you?" she asked, and he shrugged a little. "I'm not actually a Watcher, although I do have lots of experience with the sorts of things they deal with." He still hadn't quite broken the habit of secrecy, even now that he'd taken up permanent residence in England. His time in Africa had prepared him for his current job, but talking about it openly was a different matter. Even with someone who seemed to be in the know. 

"I'm not as familiar with the Council as some people in this room," Emily said, gesturing towards a group of older men in suits where they stood in a knot. "If you were hoping to talk shop, you should go talk to the old farts over there." 

Surprised by the sudden flash of snark, Xander smiled, exposing some teeth. He hadn't been to enough of these things yet to be prepared for humor, and his somber expression shifted into something more accessible. Not just smart, but _sharp_ too. "Talking shop with the tweed set is usually the last thing I consider fun." 

The smile added something to his face, made him look less grim, and Emily realized that the patch made him look rakish. Attractive. She'd done some sleeping around since she'd gotten here too, although not indiscriminately. She looked at his hands. No ring. Then she filed it away as a possibility. The world beyond Washington was a large one, larger than even she had expected. 

"So what does the head of the London office do?" he asked, and she replied, "Deal with terrorism, human trafficking, things like that. It's not as glamorous as it sounds like it might be initially. Despite what Clyde probably told you, none of us act like James Bond." 

He was still smiling, but it had taken on a bemused quality. In different circumstances, this was a woman he would have liked to get to know better. His social life had more or less ground to a halt after he left the States, and his social _skills_ had atrophied a bit since Sunnydale became a crater. He hadn't had a relationship since Anya died, not a lasting one. Xander's smile turned from bemused to a little wistful. His good eye drifted away from Emily's face, scanned the room out of habit. 

She had emptied her glass while they'd been talking, and she debated getting another refill, then decided against it. Four was usually her limit, and she'd already reached it. That meant it was cutoff time. She wondered what Xander was looking at. 

"If there's someone you're looking for, I can stop distracting you," she said, and he swung back to face her. That one dark eye studied her, and despite years of work in law enforcement, Emily was discomfited. She wondered what had cost him half of his sight. Beneath her clothes, she thought she felt the scar Ian Doyle had 'gifted' her with twinge, but of course it was only her imagination. A more reserved version of the liaison's smile touched his mouth, and he shook his head. 

"I don't get distracted very often, Ms. Prentiss. Not anymore." 

"Emily." 

"Emily, then." 

They chatted a bit more in a desultory fashion about the similarity of their work, and then Xander spotted a Council colleague of his across the room. A watch check told him that it was nearly midnight, which meant he should be heading home anyway, but he needed to confer with the person he'd just noticed. "I have to go," he told Emily, and he instinctively offered his hand. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even if Clyde did dump me into your lap." 

His hand dwarfed hers, and Emily smiled up into his face. She'd probably have another drink after all, even if it would exceed her self-imposed limit. At least she wasn't driving. "I enjoyed meeting you, Xander. Have a good night." 


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later, Emily was sitting at her desk going through phone messages when the intercom buzzed. She set the stack of papers aside and tapped the button. "Yes, Roberta?"

"There are some people insisting that they see you, Chief Prentiss." Her assistant's English accent was crisp, and there was the barest thread of annoyance underneath the polite words. "They're quite insistent, I'm afraid. If it wouldn't trouble you..."

"Of course." A watch check said that it was ten after one. She had a meeting scheduled for two o'clock, but if this was official business, she had time to tend to it. "I don't have a lot of time, but I have some."

The heavy door to her office opened in the next few minutes, and two young women stepped past the threshold. One had dark hair, the other bright red locks. The red-haired one looked behind her, and Xander Harris followed her inside. Emily straightened up in her chair. She'd done some inquiring and had found out that Interpol occasionally worked with the Council, and she wondered what was going on that they'd come see her directly.

Xander took the chair on the other side of the desk while the two Slayers with him remained standing, aligning their backs with the wall. If he was honest with himself, he'd hoped to see Emily again, just not under these circumstances.

"I take it this is a work-related matter?" she asked, noting that he wore no tie today. He probably reserved the formal wear for official function the way she did. The left corner of his mouth lifted.

"Yeah, I'm afraid it is. I don't know how familiar you are with the sources the Council uses, but we came across some information, and we need assistance to act on it." He adjusted his lightweight jacket on his shoulders, looked around at the dark-paneled office.

"I'm listening." Her visitor paused, looked back at the girls he'd brought with him. 

"Is this office secure? Private, I mean? From being listened in on."

"Of course. It's swept for listening devices every few days as standard procedure. You can speak freely." Emily was beginning to see the point of her assistant's annoyance, but she masked it with curiosity. Xander's hand moved towards the patch, then returned to his lap before making contact with it.

"There's going to be a boat docking in the next week or so with a cargo hold of human captives," he said at last. :"Kidnap victims from various locations. They're being smuggled into the country by a front company. We'd like to find out who's behind it, but we need help."

"All right," she said, wondering if she should take notes. "Are they being smuggled in for work purposes, to be moved elsewhere? White slavery isn't as much of an issue as it once was, but there are still instances of it."

"Actually..."

"They want to use them for food."

It was the dark-haired girl, who was looking at the ceiling, and it took a second for Emily to grasp the words. Then she paled a little as it sank in. She'd heard of such things, of course, but not spoken of so baldly. "Why do you need Interpol's assistance?" she asked a little unsteadily. "I thought that was your wheelhouse." Xander's single eye crinkled at the corner as he smiled ruefully.

"It is our wheelhouse," he said with a nod. "But the Council doesn't have the legal authority to detain the boat, and Interpol does. I considered contacting the local authorities, but it seemed like a better idea to go to someone with more clout. I've put a team in place to deal with the actual perpetrators, but we need additional information before we can move up the ladder. For that, we need you."

"Your confidence in our office is inspiring, Mr. Harris," Emily demurred, beginning to toy with thee messages she'd put on her desk blotter. "But I think you might be over-estimating my abilities. There are things I can do, but I'm not a miracle worker."

His head tipped to the side as he looked at her over the expanse of her desk, and she found herself wondering what he was thinking. Supposedly if you lost the use of one sense, the others increased in proficiency as a way to compensate. If you only lost half the use of one sense, how did the body make up for the deficiency?

"No." Xander's voice was thoughtful, and he scratched the top of his ear. "No, I don't think I'm over-estimating anything, Ms. Prentiss. Emily. I think you're incredibly smart or else you wouldn't be running things around here. I did some inquiring about you too. Behavioral Analysis Unit? Impressive. So yeah, I think we came to exactly the right place."

Was he flirting with her? She found herself hoping he was. Emily could feel the paleness of her cheeks subsiding as a slight pink tinge rose to the surface, and she averted her eyes to look towards the two girls, who were still standing. "Will they be part of the clean-up team, as it were? I don't know very much about the combat side of the Council's work, but I'm aware of the basics."

"Yes, they'll be involved. I have three other girls who'll be coming in as well. That should be sufficient to deal with whatever crew might be on-board at the time the boat docks."

He watched her look them over, and her expression was a little sad, a little wistful. "They seem so young," she murmured,.

Xander looked down into his lap, where his hands were folded. He was forcefully reminded of Buffy, how young she'd been when they first met. They'd _all_ been young back then. He made a noise down in his chest, trying to shake off the memory. "Melanie's seventeen," he said, pointing at the red-haired girl. "Tania just turned nineteen. They've been thoroughly trained, and so have the other girls who'll be on this detail. We don't use newbies for things like this. Not anymore."

There was something sad in his face for a minute, something haunted, and Emily resisted the urge to inquire. She was trying to stop profiling people now that she was no longer with the Bureau, but it was a hard habit to break. She coughed quietly into the silence once Xander stopped talking, looked at the girls again. They looked normal. Hell, they looked _average_. She was going to have to do some asking around of her own. Even if she couldn't profile, general curiosity was allowed.

"Well, I'll do what I can for you," the brunette said. "Is there a number where I can reach you? We may have to be in contact later. I may be Chief here, but I have higher-ups of my own, and they might not be so accommodating."

"Uh, yeah. Just a sec."

He stood up, started going through his pockets. He usually kept business cards on him these days, both for the Slayers he met and for people in authority. There was something about quality card stock that made people look past your youth - and the patch - and take you seriously. He found one in the inside pocket of his jacket, smoothed it out on the leg of his pants before handing it across the expanse of the desk. 

Emily studied the card, tucked it into the top drawer of her desk. He even used 'Xander' on his business cards. "Why not use your full name?" she asked impulsively. His mouth quirked into a half-smile. 

"Because 'Lavelle' sounds like a car they don't manufacture anymore."

Emily laughed, and again Xander thought he'd like to know her better. Away from the office, away from work. He looked at his watch. One-thirty. The chair made noise as he lifted his weight out of it. He needed a haircut first. He felt sloppy in comparison to her put-together appearance. After a second, he offered her his hand.

"It was good to see you again," he said, and she got up so she could accept the handshake. "Well, if we can be of help, I'm glad to make the attempt," the brunette replied. "I hope you save those people. If there's anything else we can do to make it easier, let me know and I'll do what I can."

He smiled down at her, released her hand. He could feel Melanie and Tania looking at him, and he tried to arrange his features into something more sober. Flirting was for after-hours, not for on the job. He needed to set something like a good example.

Once they left, Emily looked at the featureless surface of her office door for a minute, then shook off the reverie. Xander had looked like he'd wanted to ask her something, something having nothing to do with official matters. She moved the mental file with his name on it from 'possible' to 'probable'. Maybe the third meeting would be the charm.


	3. Chapter 3

Because the rents in London were so high, Xander lived in part of a block of flats owned by the Council. He had a provisional driver's license because of his eye, but usually he relied on a car service to get around the city. He kept an office in one room, worked out in a gym a few blocks over. All in all, it wasn't a bad life.

One night after dinner, his office phone started to ring at around eight o'clock. He'd been dozing on the couch, half-watching television. British TV was an acquired taste, but he was getting used to it. Xander picked his way into the other room, finally silencing the phone when he hit the 'accept' button. "Yeah?"

"Xander?"

Faith had to yell to make herself heard, because the terminal was busy and several announcements about flights were coming over the PA system, and she stuck a finger in her unoccupied ear so she could hear his response. The Slayer looked at her watch. What time was it in England right now?

"Hi, Faith."

The familiar voice had made him tense up at first, but he relaxed after a second. He and the brunette were on decent terms these days, even if they weren't best friends. He heard the background noise rising and falling in a constant murmur, and he raised his voice a little when he said, "Where are you? Or a better question might be, where are you headed?"

"Actually, we're on our way to London, right in your backyard."

Silence. In the background, he could hear chatter - conversations, the PA system, the white noise of a lot of people in one space at one time. He looked at the wall clock, rubbed the back of his neck.

"We?"

The Slayer heard the trepidation in the single word, and she chuffed out something that might have been a laugh. She hadn't lost all of the Southie in her accent yet, and it was evident when she said, "Relax, Xan-Man, it's just Connor. The kid wanted to come along, so I said yes.: He's never seen England."

Again, Xander relaxed, but this time it was a bit more of an effort. He'd met Connor, and he liked him, more or less. Or at least he liked him more than he liked his father. He wondered if Faith was planning to ask for crash space. If she was traveling on Council funds, she could probably get a hotel room of her own. His relationship with her had improved, ironically as his relationship with Buffy had disintegrated, but he liked having his own space, where no one was allowed unless he invited them. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Where are you?" he asked again. "Do I need to roll out the welcome mat?"

"We're at LaGuardia, fucking around with passport shit. Dumbass Connor had to almost unpack his bag to find his." Faith sounded amused rather than aggravated, and Xander snorted under his breath. "He really must not travel much."

"If we don't miss our flight, we should be there by tomorrow morning. If we have to wait until the morning, it'll be dark by the time we land. You don't have to meet us or anything. We'll probably stop by HQ first, see if you're around. If you're not, I'll call and see if you want to get together and hang out. I haven't seen you in ages."

"Okay, that's fine," Xander said, and fortunately he wouldn't have to re-arrange much as far as his schedule went. His job was mostly paperwork and organizing special ops teams, like the operation he'd put together at the London docks. He kept himself in shape on the off chance that he'd have to get involved in the field one day, but being down to one good eye made him wary of it. 

"We'll probably kick around for a few hours," Faith said, and the background noise swelled like a wave. "Eat some lousy English food, stuff like that."

"I'll leave a note at the office that you'll be showing up," Xander said. He looked around his small office, into the next room. "Will you guys need a place to bunk?"

Faith took the phone away from her ear, looked around for her traveling companion. She spotted Connor stuffing clothes back into his duffel bag, then returned to her conversation. "Nah, we're cool. We're on the Council's dime since we're such superstars, so we'll get a couple of rooms somewhere so we're not eating you into the poorhouse."

That answered the other question he'd had, and it _would_ be good to see Faith again. You never forgot your first girl, after all.

"I'll see you later, then," he said, and after they exchanged goodbyes he looked at the silent phone in his hand for a minute before putting it aside. Not all of his past was bad. Just a lot of it.


End file.
